


A Thousand Times

by Ookamii



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Songfic, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-11-15 11:09:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11229717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ookamii/pseuds/Ookamii
Summary: Alfred treasures every memory of Arthur - the good and the bad.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure why I'm doing this. I may continue it, and I may not.
> 
> My other two fics should be updated before the month's end, so don't worry!
> 
> Song: "A Thousand Times" by Hamilton Leithauser

_I had a dream that you were mine; I've had that dream a thousand times…_

Alfred awoke to a hot room. His fan, an old one that he’d stolen from his parents, hummed in the emptiness and barely managed to spit out cool air. He really needed to get that replaced someday.

He swept the bangs from his forehead, sticky and damp, before tossing his arm over his head lazily. The sheets were warm, too. And damp. The pillow was warm and likely also damp. He glided a hand across the cotton fabric, but there were no cold spots to be found. He even flipped his pillow and readjusted himself, only to find that it, too, was too warm to provide any adequate comfort. It was funny, really.

It was funny that he yearned for something cold when, not even two months ago, he had damned autumn, winter, and spring all to hell. Summer had been all he had left, but it ended up being just as unbearable as the others. Heat? Cold? Didn’t matter; it all sucked when you looked back at it. But then you missed it when it went away.

Alfred sighed loudly, knowing no one would hear him in the empty apartment. He cocked his head to look at the clock.

_4:12 A.M._

He’d woken up early again. Far too early considering he wasn’t even scheduled until ten. He did that a lot these days, as if even his dreams couldn’t stand to be near him. Alfred sighed angrily and rolled over, pulling the comforter over his head and willing himself to suffocate. Then, when it began to feel like an oven, he threw it off with a gasp for air and kicked the bed frame over and over again in frustration. He was alone; no one would mind the ruckus. He stared at the ceiling, then closed his eyes, then became paranoid that a ghost was watching him, and then reopened them. Laying on his back was pretty comfortable, he decided, but he’d also heard rumors about sleep paralysis – like hell he was going to deal with that shit. He turned to his side again.

He wouldn’t be able to fall asleep like this, not in this heat. He thought about getting up to change the thermostat, but ultimately decided against it. Too much effort.

He closed his eyes, sighing deeply, remembering cold feet pressing into the back of his calves. Cold feet and cold hands, but always filled with warmth. Not actual warmth, but like, _emotional_ warmth. The only warmth he wanted right now. The only summers he wanted anymore were green eyes and freckled shoulders.

 _“Alfred!” Arthur laughed, kicking Alfred in the ass. “Stay on your fucking side!”_  

_Alfred scooted backwards, twerking his bum into Arthur’s crotch comedically, with just the slightest hint of suggestion._

_“You know you like it, babe.”_

_“No!”_

 _“You know you want it,” Alfred grinned._

_“Stop,” Arthur panted, smiling as he flung himself over Alfred. Pale arms, scarred arms, grasped at Alfred’s own in an attempt to pin them down. Alfred pulled them to his chest, pulling Arthur closer as well. He shifted and cocked his head so that their lips were only inches apart. Pale lips. Pale everything._

_“Kiss me?” Alfred asked. “Kiss me or lose me.”_

_“Hm,” Arthur put a finger to his chin in mock thought. His mouth melted into a sweet smile, and the finger was used to pull Alfred’s chin closer. They kissed heatedly, so heatedly that they were dripping all over each other by the time the kiss was finished, both in sweat and in lust._

_“Alfie,” Arthur whimpered as Alfred climbed on top of him. He trembled, pink and damp and everything Alfred had ever wanted. Arthur lifted a hand and flicked Alfred’s cowlick, then cupped his face._

_Mine._

Alfred shuddered as he stared at the wall. He felt the moisture pool in the corners of his eyes, and when they spilled over he didn’t care. One gasp, then two, and after the third he was sobbing into his comforter, chewing on it desperately – like a child, he recognized. He didn’t care.

He sobbed and he slobbered on the blankets (he’d wash them tomorrow) and he noticed that it was becoming impossible to breathe through his nose.

_“You’re so young, lad. There are so much worse things than death.”_

The fan hummed a familiar lullaby. Alfred listened to it, repeating Arthur’s name in a mantra.

_A thousand times, A thousand times…_

_I've had that dream a thousand times._


	2. Bonfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur Kirkland was an asshole when Alfred first met him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I decided to continue it. Sue me, I'm sitting in class bored as hell.

_I left my room on the west side; I walked from noon until the night…_

“Make good choices!” his mother yelled. Alfred rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the heat travel up into his ears.

“Damn it, Mom!” he groaned loudly. Francis and Alfred’s brother Matthew were sitting in Francis’ red convertible. _Probably laughing their asses off_ , Alfred thought to himself.

Alfred grimaced at his friends, but they were indeed laughing. To top it all off, Francis was making kissy-faces to mock Alfred. Alfred tossed himself into the backseat of the car, slamming the door behind him and burrowing his face in the clean, white seats.

“Put your seatbelt on, Al,” Matthew chided. “I’m not going to let you die of humiliation.”

“I already have,” Alfred groaned, sitting up and buckling himself in. He didn’t understand why Matthew wasn’t subjected to the same torture by their parents. Perhaps it was because Alfred was the oldest, and therefore more prone to unfair taunting. “Where the hell are we going anyway?” 

“To a bonfire,” Francis grinned. “Rumor has it Ludwig robbed a liquor store.”

“His parents _own_ the liquor store,” Matthew rolled his eyes. “He didn’t rob shit.”

“Whatever,” Francis shrugged. “Stolen or not, I’ll be glad to finally get some alcohol in you,” he smiled wolfishly at Matthew, who blushed in reply.

“Gross,” Alfred sighed, closing his eyes as a breeze caressed his face and ruffled his hair. He’d turned twenty-one that month, and he was home from college for summer break. He’d already had his first drink during their annual Fourth of July barbecue, but his folks hadn’t given him enough to get drunk. Apparently Francis wanted to change that.

“Who’s this 'new guy' you’re going to introduce me to?”

“Arthur, remember? Big eyebrows, bigger temper,” Francis laughed. “I think you’ll like him.”

“I wish you’d stop trying to hook me up with all your freaky friends.”

“He’s not a friend,” Francis said with a frown, “honestly, I don’t think he has many friends. That’s why I thought it best to introduce him to you.” 

“Mr. Athletic,” Matthew smiled back at Alfred from the front seat. “You’ve always been a social butterfly.”

“Sounds more like a date to me.”

“Make of it what you will,” Francis said airily, “but if you sleep with him, I want pictures.”

“Like hell,” Alfred choked, glaring at Francis in the rearview mirror.

The bonfire was set-up on Gilbert’s land – Ludwig’s cousin. Gilbert was a good few years older than Alfred, and while they had hung out in college, Gilbert partied just a bit too hard for Alfred. If his parents knew what had happened in Gilbert’s dorm that Saturday night…well, let’s just say Alfred would be confined to his parents’ house for the rest of his college days, possibly the rest of his life. He’d already vowed to never touch weed again.

It was just as Francis had said, though: there _was_ booze, and quite a bit of it. Alfred settled for a Mike’s Lemonade, after getting called a pussy by Ivan, of course. The boy was practically drowning in vodka – straight vodka. Alfred shivered and moved closer to the fire with his lemonade. It was impressive, though Alfred anticipated an accident with how carelessly Lovino and Feli were acting, both trying to jump over the flames and land safely on the other side. Both were clearly drunk as fuck.

Francis was such a light-weight that he was practically hammered only fifteen minutes after they arrived. He stumbled up to Alfred, his arm slung protectively around Matthew’s shoulders.

“Arthur’s over there,” he nodded to where a scruffy-looking exchange student nibbled on a hotdog. “Go on, Romeo,” Francis giggled, prompting Matthew to lead him away while mumbling something along the lines of, _“Let’s find a private place.”_

Alfred watched the kid for awhile, noting how he seemed to scowl at everyone who crossed his path. He acknowledged Gilbert with surprising familiarity, though the scowl didn’t leave his face. The kid looked too stuffy to be at a party like this, let alone friends with Gilbert. He was even wearing a sweater-vest of all things.

 _Still,_ Alfred thought, _I’ve never turned away from a potential friend._

Steeling himself for the awkwardness which surely approached, Alfred took a deep breath and walked over to where Arthur sat. The boy was alone; Gilbert had left to pour more lighter-fluid on the fire. Ludwig was trying to stop Feli and Lovino from burning their feet off. Everything seemed so lively and distracted, save for this corner where Arthur simply sat, regarding everyone quietly and eating his hotdog.

“Hi,” Alfred grinned down at Arthur. “Any room on that log for two?”

Arthur stared up at him for a few moments, appearing bewildered, if not somewhat irritated that his people-watching was interrupted. He shifted sideways so that his feet were also perched atop the log, making Alfred frown.

“Nope. No room at all,” he answered, raising a brow at Alfred. Alfred supposed this kid was trying to challenge him.

“C’mon,” he smiled wryly, “there’s no need to be a dick. I just wanted to introduce myself.”

Alfred extended a hand. Arthur stared at it in contempt, then lifted his eyes to meet Alfred’s. They were so green that they burned like…like the wildfire in _Game of Thrones_ , or something.

“Piss off,” he snapped, dropping his half-eaten hotdog at Alfred’s feet before shoving past him. Alfred stared after him in a daze, then turned to look down at the abandoned hotdog. “Wow, that’s a fucking waste of food!” he called after Arthur. But the boy kept walking, not turning to acknowledge him again.

“Why the hell did Francis want to introduce me to _that_ guy?” Alfred sniffed, tossing his lemonade aside. He shoved his hands in his pockets and marched away from the bonfire. He might as well look for Francis and Matthew. “He’s a fucking ass.”

As expected, Lovino’s pained yowl echoed from behind. He’d missed a jump.  


	3. Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His cheek was turning black, that much was certain.

_I changed my crowd, I ditched my tie…_

“Thanks,” said Arthur.

Alfred shot a side-glare at him, holding his aching cheek as gingerly as possible.

“I didn’t think Francis would punch you. Honest.”

“Course you didn’t,” Alfred rolled his eyes. “You’ve only gotten into _how many_ fist-fights with him?”

“Yes, but we’ve always loathed each other. I daresay Francis is the Iago to my Othello.”

Alfred snorted at the reference. As if he wanted to be reminded of fucking Shakespeare when his face was turning black.

“But I believed you and him to be close friends,” Arthur shrugged, turning to stare out the window of the counselor’s office. Alfred saw a flash of remorse on his face, but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared.

“Hm,” Alfred grunted.

“Regardless, I apologize. And…” Arthur turned completely away so that Alfred couldn’t see his expression, “…thank you for defending me. I honestly don’t know what that wanker was on about.”

“Couldn’t really tell who started it from where I stood. One minute you were talking and the next you guys were lunging at each other. And then he had you pinned and…” Alfred trailed off. Arthur had been mostly an ass to him since he’d met him eight months ago; he wasn’t sure why he went out of his way to defend the guy, especially seeing as Francis was Matthew’s boyfriend.

“Oh God, Mattie’s gonna be _pissed_.”

Arthur nodded, a faint smile stretching across his face.

“Let’s just hope this wasn’t the catalyst for their breakup. He’d never forgive you then,” Arthur joked. Alfred only frowned, fiddling with his hands irritably. He wasn’t sure where the damn counselor was, but he had a study group in half an hour and _very_ little patience left. If they were going to kick him out, he’d rather get it over with.

“What did he say to you, anyway? Usually you’re pretty good at redirecting his insults…or something,” Alfred offered lamely.

Arthur turned uncharacteristically quiet. Make no mistake, Arthur was pretty quiet on a regular occasion, but Alfred saw the smile vanish from his face as if it were never there. His jaw stiffened as well – though perhaps that was from the pain – and he ducked his head so that unkempt wisps of hair fell over his eyes. His posture was somber and closed-off, and Alfred almost regretted saying anything.

But then, almost sounding as quiet as that Erika girl in Alfred’s German class, Arthur muttered, “He talked about my brothers. The bastard.”

Alfred kind of wanted to press Arthur more, despite the fact that he knew he’d likely get a lecture in return, or maybe even a simple _fuck off **.**_ He didn’t get the chance, though. The counselor came in moments later, and Alfred was forced to temporarily forget how lost Arthur had looked after mentioning his brothers.

\- - -

Luckily for Alfred, they hadn’t kicked him out. Though they did take away a few of his scholarships, and they even fined him for the misdemeanor. His parents were not going to be happy, to say the least.

He supposed Arthur was even worse off. Apparently Arthur _really_ needed his scholarships, seeing as his family wasn’t quite as well-off as Alfred’s, and the boy looked positively distraught at the notion of having to quit school because he wouldn’t be able to afford it.

 _“I don’t want to go back there,”_ he had told the counselor, _“I…can’t go home.”_

Alfred was excused after that, but he had waited outside for Arthur anyways. He had just sent a text telling the other members of his study group that he wouldn’t make it when Arthur finally stepped out, looking slightly more relieved.

“Well, what happened?” he asked eagerly, following Arthur as the boy shuffled away.

“Nothing. I have counseling three days a week now, that’s all.”

“Counseling?” Alfred paused. Arthur stopped too, turning to regard Alfred with a raised eyebrow. “What for?”

“Don’t know,” Arthur shrugged, staring at the floor. Alfred figured Arthur _did_ know the reason and just didn’t want to share it, so he didn’t press the issue. Didn’t mean he didn’t want to, though.

“Well, just as long as you’re okay,” Alfred threw out there before he realized what he was saying. The heat rose to his face as soon as the words had registered in his brain, but Arthur was smiling kindly at him.

“Perfectly lovely,” Arthur agreed, and Alfred didn’t know if Arthur had meant himself or Alfred.

“Come to McDonald’s with me?” Alfred offered. Some chicken nuggets would help with the sudden awkwardness – maybe fifty or so.

“Actually, I really need to get back to my dorm. I have a midterm before spring break and it’s in biology,” Arthur shuddered. Alfred blinked.

“You mean…you’re not a graduate student?” He had been certain that stuffy old Arthur, who always spoke like he was from a different time, had long since graduated. Likely with a B.A. in English or something like that. Why was he still taking his Gen Eds?

“Of course not.”

“But I thought – I mean, how old _are_ you?”

“Twenty-three,” Arthur answered, “and turning twenty-four in April. How old did you think I was?” he scoffed.

“Probably like eighty or something,” Alfred snickered, dodging the blow as Arthur tried to cuff him on the ear. “I just figured you’d be way ahead of me by now. I mean, I’m technically almost a senior.”

“And I don’t envy you,” Arthur huffed. “Twenty-one hours a semester? No thank you. As it is, I’m only a little behind because I didn’t immediately go to college after I graduated.”

“Why not?”

“Family issues,” Arthur explained, quickly changing the subject. “Anyways, I’m afraid I must part with you here. I really need to get going,” he said, adjusting his laptop bag as he began walking away again.

Alfred frowned, but nodded.

“Yeah, see ya around.”

He cradled his cheek again as the throbbing returned, and almost started to walk away himself. His stomach was telling him that it was time to go.

But then he heard someone running behind him, and when he turned around Arthur was quickly trotting up to greet him again. He must have forgotten something.

“I forgot something,” Arthur said, breathing heavily. Then, without any warning, Arthur placed a hand on Alfred’s shoulder and leaned up to kiss him – on his bruised cheek, that is.

Alfred stared slack-jawed at Arthur as he pulled away. Arthur winked and then turned to leave again, walking away from Alfred with all sorts of swagger that it was honestly hilarious.

“You’re not bad, Jones,” Arthur called back to Alfred. “And Francis is going to need plastic surgery to reshape that face of his.”

Alfred stared speechless after Arthur for a whole two minutes before his jaw began to ache. He closed his mouth and quickly looked around to see if anyone had caught that moment on film or anything. Arthur Kirkland…had just _kissed_ him.

“Hot,” Alfred grinned manically.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Alfred sauntered away and whistled a merry little tune.

His cheek had stopped throbbing.


	4. Embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I love you' was a commitment Alfred was ready to make, even if Arthur was scared.

  _I watched the sparks fly off the fire._

Of all the spots in Alfred’s house, the patio was probably the most romantic. Aside from his bedroom, of course, but they’d only been dating for a few weeks and Alfred really didn’t want to push his luck with Arthur.

The back patio and the garden were his folks’ pet projects. Alfred’s mother had a fondness for roses and irises, colonies of both lining the fence and wrapping around the neatly-trimmed lawn and newly-installed firepit that his father had recently built. It was a nice place, perfect for a casual night with one’s boyfriend. Alfred’s parents were out of town and Matthew was currently locked away in his bedroom, probably anticipating some thumps or breathy noises; however, Alfred was determined to play the gentleman tonight. That was usually Arthur’s department, but Alfred was the host. And Arthur had been strangely quiet the entire night, strange even for him, which prompted Alfred to distract Arthur from whatever was bugging him.

“Here ya go,” Alfred handed Arthur the margarita he’d just fixed for him. After all, Alfred’s homemade margaritas were bomb as fuck.

“Thank you,” Arthur replied. He sipped the drink, brows furrowed as he stared at the flames.

Alfred fidgeted with his own drink, stirring his straw as he glanced repeatedly in Arthur’s direction. He cleared his throat.

“You okay, babe? You’ve been relatively quiet since you came over.”

Arthur spared Alfred a wry smile, but he still said nothing. A shiver ran up Alfred’s arms and he scooted his chair closer to the firepit. The two sat in silence for several moments before Arthur eventually broke it.

“I quit counseling today.”

The news came as a shock to Alfred, though because of timing more than anything else. He’d figured Arthur would quit counseling eventually, maybe someday when the ghosts of his past were gone and out of his reach. Progress had been made – Arthur was living with a cousin for the summer, having finally broken out of _that_ house, but the storm cloud lingering over the boy’s head had yet to completely dissipate. The scars had mostly faded, but Alfred feared the day he’d look and find a new scar. That thought alone could drive him to panic.

“Are…Are you happy that you did?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. I just…wanted to take control of my life again, I guess. I wanted to prove to myself that I’m making progress. That I’m getting better.”

“You are,” Alfred reassured him, taking his hand and caressing the pale knuckles with his thumb. “I know you are.”

Arthur smiled at him. It was a watery smile.

“You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, you know? I’m such an asshole,” he laughed sadly, turning his face back to the fire, “what did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Stop,” Alfred said seriously, setting his margarita down and turning in his chair so that he was facing Arthur. He took Arthur’s face in his hands, forcing him to look at Alfred. Arthur resisted at first, shivering at the contact, but soon he eased into Alfred’s touch and also set his margarita down so that he could properly face his boyfriend.

“Stop,” Alfred repeated, “Stop putting yourself down for no reason. You’re wonderful. I love you, and you’re wonderful,” he said, fully aware that his face had probably caught fire. Arthur’s had too. The older boy’s mouth was parted in surprise, though his brow was creased with distress, giving an overall appearance of sadness. Alfred couldn’t bear it.

“Oh God, I’ve ruined you. What have I done?” Arthur whispered, though Alfred knew Arthur was only joking with him.

“Consider me happy to be ruined. Are you happy, too?”

“I’m never happy,” Arthur frowned. Alfred pressed Arthur’s cheeks together – so soft and lovely – until Arthur looked very much like a fish. If that didn’t make him smile, then damn everything.

But Arthur did smile, just a little, which is what gave Alfred the unfathomably perfect idea to kiss Arthur until he forgot everything except happiness. And so he did.

Alfred pulled Arthur’s face closer and closed that distance, planting his mouth firmly on Arthur’s. Arthur shakily exhaled, then stumbled from his wicker chair into Alfred’s arms, sighing into the kiss as they opened their lips to each other. Alfred would have blamed the shivering on the night air, but Arthur was also trembling and Alfred knew that he wasn’t alone. They held each other as they parted for breath and then met again and again, tongues darting this way and that, lips smacking and brushing over jaws and down each other’s necks as they embraced each other completely and openly. At one point Arthur was straddling Alfred in the wicker chair – which proved more resilient than Alfred ever thought to give it credit for – and a margarita was accidentally knocked over in the midst of their kissing and petting.

“Arthur,” Alfred breathed, nibbling on a particularly sensitive spot by Arthur’s ear, causing the boy’s shoulder to hitch as he gasped and sighed. “Move in with me.”

Arthur enveloped Alfred’s lips in one final kiss, sucking on his lower lip before pulling away to properly look at him. He held Alfred’s face in his hands, stroking it tenderly, eyes blinking back moisture as they looked at each other and made silent promises in the quiet and cool night air.

Arthur nodded with another watery smile, closing his eyes and resting his head on Alfred’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he breathed, “for being patient with me.”

“I love you,” Alfred replied, rubbing Arthur’s back. Arthur hadn’t said the words yet. Arthur probably wouldn’t say the words for a long time. That wouldn’t change Alfred’s love for him. He’d be patient for as long as Arthur needed. He wouldn’t be like everyone else. He would stay – be there for Arthur unless Arthur told him to go. This, without a doubt, scared Arthur, who was currently clutching him so hard that his nails dug into Alfred’s skin, but Alfred would prove to Arthur that it was possible – it was possible to love someone too broken to love themselves.

“So young,” Arthur said to no one.

“Huh?”

“You’re so young, my dear lad. So bright and yet so…young.”

Alfred didn’t know what Arthur meant. He didn’t used to pay attention when Arthur became all philosophical and shit, but he was paying attention now. He shivered, disturbed by the emptiness in Arthur’s voice.

Arthur stroked Alfred’s hair in soft, soothing motions and Alfred contented himself with forgetting the emptiness and embracing Arthur as he was – sad and in need of serious _Alfie cuddles._

The fire died slowly, framing them in a yellow halo.


End file.
